


Starshaper

by Grandoverlord



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Abuse of the color blue, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Ice Skating, Light Angst, M/M, Pre-Grand Prix Final, Self-Doubt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-15 01:39:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9213545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grandoverlord/pseuds/Grandoverlord
Summary: They skated across night-black ice, the lines of their skates drawing constellations in the sky’s reflection. Every turn was a slice of the clouds, every scrape a smudge in the moon; for once, Victor Nikiforov was not a star, but a starshaper. They both were.





	

If you’ve got the endurance for a grand prix qualification,” Victor said, wagging a finger, “you’ve got the endurance for a little hike.”

Victor trotted ahead, noticeably light on his feet compared to Yuri, who had the privilege of carrying a thirty pound backpack.

“Mphff hur murrph,” Yuri said. “Hrrmp mannan rumph hum.” He yanked down a scarf that appeared to be slowly eating his face. “This thing is going to strangle me,” he said, confirming Victors suspicion of the scarf’s malicious vendetta.

“Which means you probably won’t die of exhaustion,” Victor chirped back.

“It’s close.”

“You know, short hikes are typically a mile or two. We’re going on five.”

Victor feigned surprise. “Are we? Well, then it can’t be too much farther.”

Despite his complaining (muffled by nefarious neckwear), Yuuri trudged onwards, his boots crunching snow under every step. Victor slowed to Yuri’s pace. “It’s actually just over this ridge,” Victor said. “I wouldn’t push my star pupil too hard just before their big day.”

Yuuri’s response was lost to the woolen clutches of his scarf, but the line of tension threading through his body escaped as a long sigh. Victor was sure that the tension wouldn’t leave for long. It never did. Every day saw Yuri drawn tighter and tighter, a quivering bowstring drawn back by competition. In a week everything would be different; his arrow spent, the string lax once again, Yuri could unwind.

Of course, Victor imagined that certain future conversations would be rather stressful in their own way. But they wouldn’t be having those for some time.

They crested the ridge and Victor felt Yuri’s gaze.

“It’s ours,” Victor said.

“No,” Yuri breathed. One look was all he needed to go scrambling down the side of the hill, tension lost to the coil and slide of freshly fallen snow. Victor followed after in an easier pace, careful of the icy slope.

Waiting for them at the bottom of the hill was a small wooden building painted– perhaps overenthusiastically– a color that could only be referred to as exuberant blue. It was a like the platonic concept of blue had drawn a self portrait of itself while on an incredibly improbable amount of ecstasy. It was a cheery color, despite its rather revolving door attitude towards rehabilitation.

Victor caught up to Yuuri at the bottom of the slope.

“It’s very–” Yuuri started. “I mean, it’s lovely. It’s just quite– I don’t know how to say it, but, it just strikes me as--”

“Blue?”

Yuuri shot Victor a relieved glance. It was impossible not to notice, of course, but for some reason visitors always seemed unwilling to comment on it. The color might seem unseasonably joyful perhaps, like a mariachi band at a funeral, and perhaps people felt like it was committing some sort of social egress to mention it-- like pointing out the fact that someone had hired a mariachi band for a funeral.

“Do you like it? I chose it myself,” Victor said.

“Of course you did.”

Victor looked it up and down once more before opening the door. They stepped inside.

“When did you have time to do this?” Yuuri asked, gesturing at the entry hallway. He stomped his boots, removed his hat, and extricated himself from his scarf with some effort.

“Well, I imagine the decor was decided a long time ago. This kind of blue doesn’t just happen overnight, you know.” Victor did the same, shrugging off his jacket and hanging it on the pegs by the door.

“I’m just amazed that you managed to rent a cabin in such a short time.” Yuuri laughed. “I mean, did you know the plane was going to get canceled? There’s no way you could have booked this in advance.”

“You’ve caught me. I can see the future, and I put my powers to use in the ultimate realm of real estate.”

“Victor,” Yuuri groaned. “How much did this cost last minute?”

Victor turned to face Yuuri. “Not. One. Cent,” He said, tapping Yuuri on the nose with each word. Yuuri’s face flooded with color. “I own it.”

Victor grinned knowingly and strode out of the hallway and into the kitchen. Yuuri sputtered right behind, questions rattling off his tongue like fireworks on New Year’s Eve-- constant, loud, but essentially all the same.

“How has this never come up?” Yuuri inquired as Victor walked to the counter. “Why do you own a cabin in the middle of the woods?” Yuuri pushed as Victor rummaged through the cabinet. “What kind of tea is that?” Yuuri asked as Victor held up a box for appraisal.

“Mint. Do you want some?”

“Well, yes, but--” Yuuri started.

“Fantastic. I’ll put the kettle on,” Victor continued, absolutely disregarding Yuuri’s frazzle and taking no small delight in it.

“Are you running some sort of double life?” Yuuri asked.

Victor feigned confusion. “I don’t think I have the time, frankly. I spend so long skating that any double life I led would be severely neglected.”

The water bubbled happily on the stove. Rather than freezing in the lake outside, this water considered it self lucky. It was nice and toasty in the coziest little pot that it had ever been in. Why, it was quite warm. Actually, distressingly warm-- enough to call it hot-- and it was still getting hotter. It was burning, respite unlikely, escape impossible, the only way out was as steam, and oh, god, hotter and hotter--

The kettle whistled.

“Sugar?” Victor asked.

Yuuri shook his head dumbly. After a long moment he recovered himself and tried a different angle. “Why didn’t you just tell me that we were going to the cabin? Why all the mystery?” He asked.

Victor shot Yuuri a bemused look. “I just wanted it to be a surprise, is all.” He handed Yuuri his cup of tea and settled down at the table by the window. It only had two chairs, and since Victor was occupying one of them it seemed the logical move for Yuuri to take the other.

“It would have been a lot easier if you’d just told me,” Yuuri insisted, sipping his drink. “I was half-convinced I was going to die from hypothermia.”

“Your scarf would’ve gotten you first,” Victor muttered. “What’s wrong with a little suspense?”

“You could be a crazy axe murderer taking me out to the woods to kill me. There’s a difference between suspense and potential murder,” Yuuri replied.

“And my taking you to a conveniently isolated cabin in the woods steered you away from that assumption?”

Yuuri just smiled into his tea. “I’m willing to be murdered so long as I’m warm when it happens. That’s really my only requirement.” Victor followed his gaze out the window and noted that the snow had finally taken that difficult but necessary step that all young precipitation must take, and was indeed drifting resolutely down towards its future on the ground. The clouds had been threatening snow all day, so it came as no surprise to Victor. Yuuri, on the other hand, watched the snow fall with quiet reverence.

“If you’re looking to die warm, ice skating was probably a poor career choice,” Victor said.

Yuuri shrugged, his eyes never leaving the window. “How many conveniently isolated cabins have you got tucked away?”

“Just the one. It’s a family home, a--” he paused, his eyebrows drawing together. “I’m not sure there’s a word for it in English. In Russian, this place is called a ‘dacha'. It’s something like a beachhouses to an American, a place where people go to get away from city life.”

“I see,” Yuuri said.

“It’s normally more of a summer home,” Victor continued to explain. “But I thought that we could use a break, and since we were in the area anyway it seemed like the natural choice.”

“It’s lovely.” Yuuri’s voice was soft as he said this, softer than the unbroken snow outside, softer than the dark-swabbing clouds shedding their burdens, softer even than the sunlight that fell like pale blush across his cheekbones and hands. Yuuri himself was so soft, from his stomach to his eyes, and Victor adored it. Tension did not come naturally to Yuuri.

If Victor was being honest with himself-- which he made a point of doing only very rarely-- he would say that of course he had brought Yuuri to the dacha to unwind. He would explain that Yuuri needed a break more than  
Georgi needed Tinder, and that the dacha was a place separate from the outside world, an asylum of the kind that only Russian woods could provide. He would then, quite calmly, mention to himself that his tea was boiling hot and that he had burnt his tongue.

Victor set down his tea so quickly that some of it sloshed over the sides, scalding his hand in the process. He hissed a quick breath and set to cleaning it up. Yuuri’s contemplation of the snow broke with the sound and he silently took a napkin to clean up the mess that Victor was attempting to mop up with his shirt.

Yuuri sipped at his tea.

“You’re a monster,” Victor said. Yuuri cocked his head to the side. “Do you not have tastebuds?” Victor asked. “Or nerves?”

Yuuri just smiled that soft smile of his and took another sip of tea.

“So,” Victor said, ignoring the gut feeling that Yuuri was inhuman. “We have until ten tomorrow to do whatever we like. That’s when we’ve got to leave for the plane.”

“I didn’t bring anything to do. I’d rather stay inside, since I don’t want to--”

“Yes, yes,” Victor waved a hand. “You don’t want to get sick before a competition.” He leaned across the table to take Yuuri’s hands in his, his eyes gleaming. “It’s a good thing that the dacha has a full stock of board games. How do you feel about Jenga?”

\---

  
“I hate Jenga,” Victor groaned, lying prostrate amongst a forest of toppled blocks. “I forgot how much I hate Jenga.”

  
\---

Yuuri smiled once more to try to comfort Victor, but he was making little progress.

“A picnic would’ve been very nice if it weren’t...you know, freezing cold and dark. And the food is still good inside,” Yuuri said.

“I just thought it would be fun,” Victor sniffed. “We always used to have picnics next to the lake in the summer.” He picked at a stalk of broccoli with that forlorn look he always got when his plans didn’t work out.

“You’re not a practical thinker. It’s okay.”

“Victor pushed around the food on his plate. “You’re not upset that we can’t have a picnic?” Victor asked.

“I certainly wasn’t expecting one. It’s more than enough for me that someone made me dinner.”

Victor scrutinized Yuuri for a few long seconds before he went back to his meal, munching much more contentedly now. Yuuri was still more wound up than Victor thought he ought to be, but after a decadent afternoon of  
doing absolutely nothing, Yuuri was making progress. That thought made his decidedly subpar pasta seem gourmet.

“After dinner, are you going to tell me what was in that backpack you forced me to lug up a mountain?” Yuuri asked. “And tell me, perhaps, why I was the one carrying it?”

“Because I, my dear, am retired.”

Yuuri’s face tightened and Victor began to regret having mentioned that little fact. The question of retirement lurked behind Yuuri’s eyes like a grim reaper. Or a cataract-- and Yuuri’s eyes were bad enough without either of them.

“In the bag, you’ll note, are some things. And food for today, but that’s irrelevant,” Victor said.

“Food,” Yuuri said, gesturing pointedly with his fork, “Is very rarely irrelevant. And what are ‘things’?”

“Things are things that will be relevant.” Victor pushed his plate towards Yuuri so that Yuuri could finish his meal. “Even more so than food.”

“I’m looking forward to it, then” Yuuri said. “Are you sure that you’re done?”

“There’s more in the kitchen if I want it.”

Yuuri’s eyes gleamed, and Victor couldn’t hold back a laugh. “No katsudon, I’m afraid, but what my food lacks in quality, I make up in quantity.”

Yuuri chuckled too and the conversation moved on, a quiet to and fro of comments and smiles and laughs. It was the kind of conversation that you don’t remember for the words, but for the feelings that weave the words together. Together they spoke a tapestry of warmth, comfort, and maybe even a little bit of love. It was always hard to tell with these things.

“If you’ll come outside, I’ll show you what was in the bag,” Victor said once they had finished their meal.

“Not another picnic?” Yuuri said, a question in his voice. “We should probably clean this up first.”

“No!” Victor protested. “No work! No cleaning! Relaxing only.”

“I thought this was for both of us to relax, Victor,” Yuuri replied, a calm counterpoint to Victor’s consternation. “If I don’t take care of this, I’ll be stressing about it all night.”

“Watching you work is stressful.”

Yuuri rolled his eyes and stood. “Let me get the dishes to the kitchen. We can finish cleaning up after you’ve shown me whatever you decided to saddle me with.”

“I’ll allow it,” Victor said, like it was a great concession on his part.

They gathered their plates and cups and silverware and piled them (somewhat precariously) in the sink. When all of that was done, Victor turned to Yuuri and grinned. “Give me ten minutes, then come outside. You’ll see what was in the bag.”

“You and your suspense.”

Victor flashed another open-toothed smile and dashed from the kitchen.

A few beats passed and Victor reappeared. “I forgot the bag.” And then he was gone.

  
\---

  
Victor was a performer. Even in the years before he took to the ice, he had been anxious to arrange things into something that other people wanted to watch. A mess of piano recitals, school talent shows, and-- of course-- skating, gave him the confidence to perform things that would break a less experienced performer. It was how he kept his shows fresh, interesting, daring.

He had no idea if this would work, but performers do not let their nerves show. Nerves kill a show like nothing else-- Yuuri would know.

Ouch. Victor winced, but replaced his smile with practiced grace as he saw the front door open. Any second now and Yuuri would round the corner and see the lake. He’d see it exceptionally well, thanks to the lights that Victor had scattered along the shore. They cast a soft golden glow on everything, a warm contest with the lancing moonlight.  
In the center of it all was Victor, as always. Victor was walking on water. That feat was made less impressive by the fact that the water was frozen, but still.

Yuuri approached Victor with quick, loud steps. The valley was quiet, the summer symphony of insects dulled to a low murmur. Victor could hear everything-- which made Yuuri’s silence even louder.

Yuuri reached the edge of the shore, where Victor met him.

“You had me carrying lights?” Yuuri asked.

“Not just lights,” Victor said, presenting him a pair of well worn skates. “Come skate with me.”

Victor could see the question in the tilt of Yuuri’s head, but Yuuri went with it, lacing up his skates without comment. He hesitated for a moment before stepping onto the ice.

“This is very pretty,” Yuuri said finally. “But I don’t understand. If you wanted to practice, we could have just gone to a rink in Moscow, and you wouldn’t have had to go to all this trouble.”

Victor took Yuuri’s hand and led them out onto the ice. He gave a few lazy strokes, skating backwards to face Yuuri. “I don’t want to practice with you. We’ve practiced as much as anyone can expect and you’re going to get any better before the competition.”

Yuuri’s face was blank. “Your confidence astounds me.”

“You aren’t going to get any better, but when you perform, you will be the best. I chose golden lights tonight because I am confident that you’ll win something to match.”

This was turning into professional talk, which was exactly what Victor was trying to stay away from.

“Because of this fact,” Victor continued. “I don’t want to practice. That’s just skating. I want to skate with you, in a way that I never can as your coach. I want to hold your hand and skate around and around in ridiculous, pointless circles and have it be fun because it’s with you.”

“Oh,” was all Yuuri said. “Okay.”

Mittened hands clasped tight, they skated. They skated in lines and skated in circles, skated as people and as a pair of puffed breaths. It was Yuuri and Victor on the ice, skating the way that only they could skate but the only way that they never did. They skated across night-black ice, the lines of their skates drawing constellations in the sky’s reflection. Every turn was a slice of the clouds, every scrape a smudge in the moon; for once, Victor  
Nikiforov was not a star, but a starshaper. They both were.

Victor tried new tricks and slipped more than he had since he was a teen, half the time managing to drag Yuuri down with him. Yuuri laughed and played along, even trying a few himself.

“What was that one?” Yuuri asked as Victor tried to recover from something that looked like it had been based off a drunk antelope. Victor had ended up as drunk antelope generally do when they encounter ice, splayed on all fours and resolving never to do it again.

“It’s Yakov’s ballet,” Victor said. He wobbled back up to his feet to shoot Yuuri a blinding grin.

Yuuri snorted. “Needs more anger. More passion.”

“More eros?” Victor replied slyly.

“God, I hope not. I don’t even want to imagine what Yakov’s eros would look like.”

Victor, who had managed to get up by this point, almost fell again from laughing. “We could always ask Lilia. She and Yakov were married, you know. I’m sure she’s got all sorts of dirty details for us. What do you think he’s into? Do you think he brings skating into it?”

“I think I’d prefer to forget this conversation ever happened,” Yuuri declared. “And maybe bleach my mind a little bit.”

“Maybe that’s for the best.”

Yuuri let himself run out of momentum and come to a slow stop. Victor pulled up alongside him.

“I’m not sure that it would be,” Yuuri said. “I don’t want to forget this.”

“You want to remember Yakov’s eros?” Victor joked. Yuuri smiled quietly, but he shook his head and put his hands into the pockets of his coat.

“I don’t want to forget anything about this, all of this. Even the ridiculous parts. You didn’t have to do all of this for me, but you did and I’m grateful. You know what I want, what I need, better than I do.”  
Victor traced the tracks of their skates with his eyes, watching the lines loop and cross, meeting again and again until it was hard to tell who made them, until it didn’t matter. “You deserve the world, Yuuri, but I can only give you so much of it. So I’ll do what I can.”

Before Yuuri could respond, Victor flitted away to the edge of the lake, where he scooped up a light in the crook of his arm. He looked to make sure that Yuuri was following before he skated to a new part of the lake, somewhere beyond the lanterns’ gleam.

Victor gestured at the ice. He was already sitting, the lantern on his left casting a glow across his features.

Yuuri sat.

“We’re going to have to get to sleep soon if we want to catch the plane tomorrow,” Yuuri said. Victor watched him shift and fidget, clearly uncomfortable with the sudden lack of movement. He could understand that. Ice skating was an addiction, a monster that only grew the more it was fed. But the air was clear and honest, and there would be no better time.

“Yuuri,” Victor said. “Are you ready for what tomorrow may bring?” There was no competition tomorrow, but they would arrive at the Grand Prix finals, and there was no telling what the atmosphere would be like once they did.

“It’s not like it’s the first time I’ve been,” Yuuri said, but his jacket puffed up around his head as his shoulders hunched in. “I’m not exactly green.”

“No, you’re not. Neither am I, though, so I know that every year is different. Different competitors, different commentators, even different crowds-- they can all make the atmosphere almost unbearable for a skater.”

“Thrilled to hear it,” Yuuri said. “But it’s not like knowing any of that is going to help.”

“I know,” Victor replied. The cold bit at his cheeks but he refrained from pulling his scarf up. He needed Yuuri to see his face, to know that he was being open with him in this moment. It was what Yuuri needed, too.  
Neither of them said anything for a few moments, and Yuuri seemed to sink deeper into himself, like he wanted to drift, ghostlike, through the ice. Victor understood the feeling. Part of performing was pretending that you didn’t, but Victor understood. Yuuri was no performer. He was an artist, and he had never learned to check his insecurities at the door. It was what made him such a good skater. That vulnerability, that fear-- though it weighed him down on land, the second he stepped into the rink, it transformed into genuine emotion, and every performer turned into a charlatan.

“I also know,” Victor continued. “That you can win. Nobody is going to want to go after you, Yuuri, because every star pales next to the sun.”

“We both know that, at best, I’m a minor astronomical body, the kind that people can’t even see in the city.”

“Then it’s a good thing that we’re not competing in astronomy.” Victor’s attempt at humor got a lukewarm reception. “But really, you’re going to shine out there. I believe that wholeheartedly, and I’d like it if you did too.”

Yuuri let out a long breath, watching it curl and twist in front of him.

“You know, I wasn’t joking earlier when I said that your confidence astounds me. I mean, I was being sarcastic then,” Yuuri said, “But I mean it. Your ability to believe in something is what makes you amazing.”

“My confidence?” Victor asked.

“You have this kind of confidence that everything will work out in the end, and once you start believing in something, you seem absolutely confident that you’re right. There’s no room for doubt,” Yuuri explained. “And I mean, I guess things always have for you, you know? Everything’s worked out.” Though he bit his lip, he didn’t wait for Victor to respond. Now that he was talking, he couldn’t seem to stop himself. “You were a prodigy, then a star, then a five time world champion, and then you retired on the basis of-- what, a five minute youtube video?-- because you had such confidence that I could become something more than I am.”

Victor resisted the urge to interrupt; he sensed that the words Yuuri said held more weight than the sum of their letters.

“That’s not really how things work for me,” Yuuri said. “I saw you standing on the lake ice just fine, but I couldn’t even bring myself to try. I couldn’t believe that it would hold me.” The fabric under Yuuri’s hands bunched as hands became fists. “All I’m trying to say,” he continued. “Is that I find you utterly remarkable, but I’m afraid that I’m going to be the one to bring my reality to the strange, magical Nikiforov world where confidence is enough. You believe in a world with wings, Victor, but I can’t. I’m on the ground, and I’m still afraid that the ice will crack.”

Strangely enough, Yuuri’s eyes were dry. There was nothing monumental about Yuuri’s assertion, no rush of tears or strangling doubt, just a quiet statement, said with full confidence of their veracity. This was what Yuuri actually believed.

“Hey,” Victor said. “Can I see your glasses?”

Yuuri looked up, confused. “I suppose,” he murmured. Probably not quite the response he’d expected. “Here.”

Victor slid them over his nose despite the chill they carried. “These are awful,” he declared.

“Because you can see without them,” Yuuri said. “They’re fine for me.”

“No, I mean they’re genuinely awful. But if you spend your time looking in the mirror with these on, I suppose I can understand how you might have an inaccurate picture of yourself,” Victor said. “The Yuuri I see when I wear these is-- well, he’s always questioning himself, and he’s seen himself fail enough times that he doesn’t want to try. He’s a little off balance in every situation and can never quite think of the right thing to say, and he’s afraid.  
He’s doubtful. He’s made himself forget how victory feels so that he never has to miss it.”

Yuuri snatched his glasses back and held them in his mittened hands. He didn’t put them back on.

“Don’t pretend that I’m not all of those things, Victor. It’s not just the glasses-- it’s me,” Yuuri said, scowling.

“It’s you,” Victor agreed. “But your glasses, they only show you the Yuuri that you see if you’re nearsighted.”

Victor slid closer to Yuuri and wrapped his arm around his shoulders.

“If you’re like me, you look at the big picture. Not just actions, but patterns,” Victor said.

“Everything you pointed out was a pattern.”

“Hush. I’m being metaphorical.”

Yuuri squinted, his jaw set, but his mouth stayed closed.

“When you’re right up close it’s easy to pretend that you’re a failure because you’re afraid,” Victor started. “But in the long run, I’ve seen a Yuuri that’s more than his doubt. Even when you fail, you get back up again and keep trying, keep seeking out that scent of something more, something bigger than yourself.”

“That’s not difficult. Most things are bigger than me.”

“And it’s not because you’re small, Yuuri. It’s because you’re capable of becoming something greater than all of us.”

“Victor, I--”

“You got your chance to monologue. My turn,” Victor countered. “Let me tell you what I see when I look at you without your glasses.”

Yuuri leaned into Victor’s side. “If you want.” He sagged into the warmth, the support that Victor provided.

“I see someone who knows what it’s like to fail and knows what it takes to succeed, and uses both so that he never stops learning.” Victor tilted his head against Yuuri’s. “He takes his fear of falling and sends it into a jump, a combination-- he takes the horrific and makes it beautiful. And no matter how doubtful, how scared he is, I see a Yuuri who steps on to the ice. He doesn’t know whether it will hold him or not, whether he will plummet to the bottom or send him scrambling to some unfamiliar shore, but he does it anyway,” Victor said. “You don’t need my confidence to succeed, because you’re willing to take a chance.”

“It doesn’t feel like it,” Yuuri said. “Victor, this is my last chance. If I don’t make it perfect, then I’m going to have wasted your whole season.” Victor met Yuuri’s eyes and was reminded just how fragile skater’s hearts tended to be. The look in those eyes made Victor’s own heart crack, just a little bit.

“There’s nothing that you can do to convince me that you wasted my time,” Victor said. “Even if you lose to Yurio. Even if you place last. Even if Pchtit’s hamsters skate better than you do in the Grand Prix finals, I will have spent my season in the best way I possibly could.”

“Trying to get a dime-a-dozen skater to become something that he’s not?” Yuuri asked. “I appreciate your kindness, Victor, but I know you would’ve taken this season if you were competing.”

They were lucky the valley was quiet. If it weren’t Yuuri might have missed what Victor said, muffled as it was. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”

Yuuri sat abruptly upright, shaking of Victor’s arm to face him.

“I’m not an idiot, Victor. You don’t need to say things like that to make me feel better.”

“I’m not.”

“Then you’ve never seen yourself skate.” Even in the snow, Yuuri’s voice was the coldest thing around.

“I’m well aware of my skill,” Victor said.

“Then how can you even pretend that you wouldn’t have won?” Yuuri shot back. “Demeaning yourself isn’t going to make me feel any better.”

For the first time, it was Victor who looked away.

“Tonight was the first time I’ve had fun skating since I was your age,” Victor murmured. “Four years, and I haven’t had fun skating.”

“But your shows--”

“You have to love skating to be good at it. It will take and take and give you nothing in return, and you still have to love it. I couldn’t. I didn’t want to skate competitively because it was no longer something that I chose to do-- I only did it because I didn’t want to let myself down. I convinced myself that if I waited for long enough, I could find someone who could help me have fun again.”

“Victor,” Yuuri said, softer now.

“And I have. So you can’t convince me that this year was a waste.”

Yuuri rested his forehead against Victor’s. Their breath intermingled in the space between them, little as that was. “Look at the two of us,” Yuuri said. “Skaters are so dramatic.”

“Occupational hazard,” Victor replied.

The night was warmer when it was just the two of them. Like this, the world seemed smaller, contracted to Yuuri’s face and smile and easy, soft eyes. Victor hadn’t planned this bit, spilling his own feelings, having to be comforted by the one that he was trying to help. He always got more involved than he meant to when Yuuri was involved.

“We should get inside,” Yuuri said.

The night could not get any darker. The had been daylight surrounded to the irrelevant machinations of the heavens. The earth seemed to insist on rotating, despite how inconvenient it was to a particular pair of ice skaters.

Out here, it was easy to forget who they were. The valley tucked them into their own little world, full of hot tea,puffed breaths, and wandering hands, a memory made to live in. It wasn’t perfect; the house was strangely blue, the ice a little thin, but their laughs were the loudest the world had to offer and it was enough.  
  
“We really should head in,” Yuuri repeated.

“We should.” Victor looked towards the house, then back to Yuuri.

They didn’t. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I was in Prague this last week and saw frozen lakes all over, so this was born. Please please please if leave comments and kudos, especially if you enjoyed it-- it keeps me happy and (more importantly) keeps me writing. I would especially like feedback regarding the style I tried here. It was kind of new and a ton of fun but I'm not sure how it ends up working out? 
> 
> Bonus (cut but still fun) scene: 
> 
> “Victor, finish the game,” Yuuri pleaded. “You can’t give up halfway.”
> 
> “I hate Jenga,” Victor said. “I forgot how much I hate Jenga. All those pieces and the stacking and the falling and the suspense–”
> 
> “What’s wrong with a little suspense?” Yuuri asked, cocking an eyebrow. “And besides, you were the one who suggested this game. It’s…fun.”
> 
> Victor shifted so that he was reclined against the edge of the couch, elbow propping his head and hair falling into his face. “Every time I assume you’re a human you say something like that.”
> 
> “I try.”
> 
> “I’m not sure you do. I think you’re just that much of a weirdo naturally,” Victor remarked.
> 
> “Coming from you, I think that’s a compliment,” Yuuri said, moving to clean up the Jenga pieces. The sitting room looked like it had once been a majestic old growth forest, tragically uprooted by the world’s tiniest lumber company. It seemed the company had a terrible business model. It went through the trouble of toppling its trees, but then just left them where they lay– really, not good for business at all. Jenga blocks everywhere.
> 
> “Of course it’s a compliment. I happen to like the fact that you’re a weirdo. It makes things exciting.”
> 
> “Fantastic,” Yuuri said, plucking a Jenga block from on top of a lampshade. “This weirdo is starting to get hungry.”
> 
> “Interesting.”
> 
> “And since you’re not helping with this, obviously,” Yuuri gestured at the destruction zone. “Could you get started on food?”
> 
> Victor toed around the blocks and wove his way over to Yuuri. “Yes, I think I could,” he said. He gave Yuuri a quick peck on the cheek and made his way into the kitchen.


End file.
